The Summer We Loved Page 9

  When at last his breathing settled, Pete lifted his face from her lap and apologised. She sat back against the head of her bed, lifted her duvet and patted the space beside her. Pete looked at her for a moment and then slowly climbed in. She held out a hand and he took it. “Talk to me,” she said.

  There was a long pause, where he must have been considering if he could speak to her and what he could say, but she waited and said nothing, giving him space to collect his thoughts.

  “It was her,” he said.

  “Ali?”

  He looked at her.

  “James told me about the crash.”

  He seemed resigned to the news.

  “It replays in my head. Always the same. I get it more often when I’m stressed, but it can come completely out of the blue.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Pete looked at her. He seemed to be assessing her worth, whether he was able to trust her or not, but in the end he settled, smoothed the back of her hand with his, and spoke.

  “I see her. Every time it’s the same. I wake up in the car wreck and all I can smell is the blood. I can feel it trickling down my face and she’s just standing there, in front of me, beyond the bonnet of the car, calling my name. My eyes are closed, but I know she’s there. “Wake up, Pete, wake up,” she’s saying. And then I open my eyes and…” His voice started to falter. “I see her, and she’s smiling, and for that split second I’m so grateful that she’s okay and I’m the one who’s injured and then the sirens blaze out, and for some reason I look round… and she’s right there, strapped into the seat beside me… dead.” He swallowed. “She’s dead.” His voice trailed away as Jenny pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it.

  What could she say to ease the burden of this poor man? What words could she speak to save him? None. So she rested their hands down on the bed between them and turned to look at him. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered and the pain in his eyes left a scar in her heart. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  His brow crinkled. “She was my responsibility.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I made her go.”

  “What do you mean, you made her go? She was a grown woman.”

  “She wasn’t going to go to the party. I was the one who persuaded her.”

  “Do you think she would blame you for that?”

  “I know Adam did.”

  “Adam was her husband. He was too close to see things rationally. How did it happen?” Jenny knew it was dangerous to ask him, but to play it through might help him to see.

  “A drunken teenager ran a red light. Slapped straight into the side of me. Of us.”

  “Well, then. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Pete met her gaze then and the sadness of the years flowed through him. “I was responsible,” he said.

  They sat together, hand in hand, for a while, until Pete rallied his spirits. He patted the back of her hand. “You’d better get some rest,” he said. “You’ve got to be up in a few hours,” and he made to slip out of her bed and back onto the floor. But she held onto his hand and, leaning her head against his shoulder, she silently urged him to stay. Not to satisfy any carnal desire, but for the comfort, the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone when he slipped back into sleep.

  The following morning Pete woke up around ten. Jenny was long gone, stealing away with the dawn, silent and gentle. What had happened there between them last night? He had lain there for hours, holding her in his arms, afraid that if he closed his eyes she would disappear. He had felt her limbs curling up within the protective arc of his body as they’d slid further and further under the covers and she’d dropped off to sleep.

  At first the urge to touch her, to explore, had quite overwhelmed him: the smell of her skin, the touch of her hair against his cheek. If it had been anyone else, he would have thought no more of it, but as the hour had moved past, he had felt a new emotion creeping over him, something long ago forgotten. Like it was his job to protect her, to watch over her as she slept, and he had done it, willingly.

  Why was she being so kind to him? She seemed to feel some sense of duty towards him. He didn’t know why. He had been acting on instinct when he’d pulled her boyfriend off her that day. Chivalry wasn’t in him. She was a fool if she thought it was. He’d run as quickly as he could after that and not looked back. Too dangerous by daylight even, although often he had been tempted. Whatever her reasons, he certainly hadn’t earned this.

  Jenny had shown warmth and acceptance, even affection for him. It wasn’t lust, not as he knew it, not on her part, at least, but it wasn’t love either. Love he had known once. Love was a consuming fire. It held you in its grasp and ripped you apart. It was life and death, breath and bone, and he would never know love like that again. Jen appeared to be everything he wanted, everything he needed deep down, but she didn’t see him like that, and to love without being loved in return was agony. He couldn’t go back there again. He would widen the gap, move back to his flat and try to set her free from him once more.

  He tidied the room, so that when she got back, it would be just as she’d left it. He deflated the bed and rolled up the sleeping bag. He picked up her pillow and… What was that? He thought he had felt something while he’d tried to get to sleep in the night. He picked it up and looked at it. It was a diary. Jenny’s diary. He tried to put it back, but something stopped him letting go. He knew he shouldn’t look, but quite without sanction, his hands opened to the first page and his eyes began to read.

  Temptation pulled him in, until the word “Michael” blinded him like a mirror to the sun. Jenny had a boyfriend, and suddenly the book snapped shut. Of course she had. She was stunning. How self-centred and stupid had he been? And he slipped it back under her pillow.

  Pete looked around. He was grateful for everything she had done for him, for finding him and caring for him and listening to his woes, but this was where it had to end. She would strip him bare if he let her and he wasn’t ready for that. Not emotionally. It was time to go back and stand on his own two feet. He borrowed a phone he found lying about in the living room, rang for a taxi and picked up his bag. Then he hobbled out to the pavement, where his taxi was waiting and went, before anyone could notice he was gone.

  The outside world was busy as he cruised through the streets back to his flat. He looked at his watch. It was Saturday. Time had meant nothing to him as he had tried to run from his past, but here was life again, still there waiting for him, as if the last couple of weeks had never happened.

  A few hours and Jen would be home and grateful that he was out of her hair. She could go back to her boyfriend and forget about him and he wondered if this ‘Michael’ realised what a lucky guy he was and hoped that the man, whoever he was, was good enough to deserve her.

  The taxi pulled up outside his building and reality flooded in. He was back to his empty life, with work and women and drink. He put his key in the lock and walked in. No feeling of home hit him, no relief to be back, on the contrary, in fact. He was back where he had started.

  Work and women and drink.

  Work? Well that horse had bolted. Women? He tried to summon the enthusiasm, but that sensation was numb, so drink it was. He dropped his bag on the floor, poured himself a large bourbon from the shelf in the kitchen and settled back onto the settee.

  He was woken a while later by hammering on his front door. It wouldn’t let up. He called out for them to stop, but whoever it was, was persistent. Clawing back to reality, he called out to them again. “All right. All right. I’m coming,” and he hauled his sorry frame across the room.

  As he turned the key, Jenny burst in and in the space of a second, her expression changed from concern to anger. “So this is what you’re up to. I come home from the shift from hell and find you gone. No note, no goodbye, no ‘see you around and thanks for everything’, just gone. So I hightail it over here to make sure you’re okay and what do I find
? You’re straight back to the way you were before, hell bent on destruction and already halfway to pickling yourself.” She was fuming and even more attractive like that. He smiled, what he thought was a charming, ‘don’t you really want to sleep with me?’ kind of smile and touched her cheek. She pulled back and went to slap his hand away, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her against him. She fought to free herself, surprising him with her strength.

  “Get off me, you oaf. You’re drunk and you stink of booze!” She kicked him in the shin, broke loose and immediately fled to the kitchen. Reeling, Pete rubbed at his leg and heard an ominous glugging sound. She wouldn’t!? He rounded the corner to find her opening the final bottle of spirits.

  “Stop!” He held up both hands, concern etching his face. “That bottle’s very expensive. It cost-”

  She unscrewed the cap and started to pour. He lunged at her, but she held him off just long enough to empty it. He made a grab and the bottle flew out of her hands, sending the final drops of amber liquid trickling down his wall, the glass smashing loudly on the stone-tiled floor and he looked at her in disgust. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “To stop you trying to kill yourself. What sort of friend would I be if I let you get drunk every time you wanted to run away from your problems?”

  She had called herself his ‘friend’. For a moment he was stunned, then the realisation of what she was doing kicked back in and her meddling lit his ire. The last thing he needed was friends like that. “What the hell do you know about my problems?” he shot at her.

  “I know you’re beating yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault. I know that you’re throwing your life away because you’re too afraid to try, and I know that you’re too proud, or too stubborn, to let anyone help you.”

  She stood there, brazen as the day, defying him to deny it. So he decided to see how she liked having her life put under the microscope. “And you’re the person to help me out here because…? Who the hell do you think you are? God’s gift to mankind? You must be what? Nearly 30? You’re not unattractive and yet you’re still single. I could ask the question, what’s the matter with you? Unable to keep a boyfriend for more than a quick shag? Or maybe you just enjoy being a punch bag?!”

  What was this? Had he hit his mark? Jen’s face paled. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and her face told him he had gone too far. She grabbed her keys from the side and hurried for the door. But the glass crunching beneath her feet slowed her escape, giving Pete just enough time to realise his mistake.

  “I’m sorry, Jen.”

  She carefully crunched around him. A piece of glass lodged in her brown-leather boot and she cursed under her breath and reached to pull it out. She cut herself and swore. Tears had started dripping down her face. Moving back to the sink, she ran the tap and Pete just stood there, not knowing what to do. Then he woke up from his angry haze and was filled with remorse.

  He walked over to stand next to her. “Let me see.”

  Jenny pulled her finger away from him. “It’s fine.”

  “Let me see,” he said again more firmly.

  Jenny held up her finger. A slice down the side had left a trail of blood weeping into the sink. He grabbed a clean tea towel out of a drawer and wrapped it around, raising her hand above her heart. He held onto it. “Forget all this. I’ll clean it up later. Come with me,” and he walked her back out to the living room. “Sit down and hold this up.”

  A couple of minutes later he was back with a box of tissues, a plaster and a glass of icy water. “Here.” He put them down in front of her and took over holding her hand. He sat there, his body angled toward hers, his good leg tucked underneath him on the settee. “Talk to me,” he said.

  Jenny’s expression told him she knew what he was doing, but at least she tried to smile. It was short-lived, however. She was very quiet and it wasn’t something he was comfortable with. “What is it, Jenny Wren? What bit of my hideous tirade upset you the most? Please, tell me. If you tell me, I won’t make you go back out and buy me another bottle of that fine malt you destroyed.” She shot him a look that dared him to try. “Please, Jen. I know I can be a callous bastard. I didn’t mean any of that. I was just lashing out. Was it about still being single?”

  She pulled on her hand for release and he carefully unwound it and let it go. “Not too bad,” he said and he put on the plaster.

  Jenny sat there, cradling her injured finger, curled up with her knees facing him and her hands held tight. “The punching… That was only ever the one guy. I was stupid. Weak. You were right.”

  Pete didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  “I was 17 when I left home,” she continued. “I fell out with my parents. I’d been in love, you see, with a lad from the village. We were going to start a life together, but our parents got together and the next thing I knew he was gone. Off to London, to make a name for himself. He’s a lawyer now. I looked him up.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I never heard from him after that. He didn’t say goodbye, didn’t write a letter, just… left.”

  Pete realised now why she might have reacted so badly to him walking out.

  “I hated my parents for pushing him away. I couldn’t eat, didn’t sleep. We rowed all the time and then, just when everything seemed to be settling down, they arranged for me to go and live with my aunt for a bit and I never went back.”

  “Not ever?”

  “It was just easier that way.”

  “And you have no idea why the guy didn’t try to contact you later on?”

  Jenny shook her head.

  “Well, he didn’t deserve you then.”

  At this she looked up and Pete looked into her eyes. Moon pits, deep and silent, their mysteries were hidden in the dark recesses of the night. And, like the first rays of sunshine on the spring lawn, he felt the frost on his heart melting.

  “What about your parents? Have they never tried to get you to go back again?” he asked.

  “They tried,” she said. “But… It’s not easy to explain. It was like I felt let down, but not let go. They were smothering me.”

  “Not even at Christmas or birthdays?”

  Jenny shook her head.

  “Have you got any brothers or sisters?”

  “One. A sister. She’s eight years younger than me.”

  “Do you see her?”

  “No. I do sometimes think it would be nice to, though. She must be what? Twenty-three now.” She took a sip of her drink.

  “I’m sorry,” he said then.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I wouldn’t have survived without my brother. I know I said the other night that I have no one, but I do have him. Why didn’t you keep in touch with her?”

  “I guess I just wanted to leave it all behind. Close the door.”

  Pete wondered about what she wasn’t letting on. Her eyes seemed to be avoiding his, like she was afraid of what he might see. He would have to get her to think about her family. She needed them, whatever she thought now. “You know, if the guy had been half the man you deserved, he would have fought for you,” he said.

  Jenny looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the sad lonely place that he knew. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m the fighting type,” she told him.

  A moment passed, when Pete wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and show her how much a man could be, how much she was worth, but of course, he was not. And he pulled himself together.

  She sniffed and turned to face him. “No one’s come close since.” She let her body relax. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked him.

  “Me? No.”

  “What, never?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She smiled at him. “But I bet you’ve said it a thousand times, to get women into bed.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not a deceiver, Jen. I never promise anything.” He settled back b
eside her, a sweetly smug grin quirking up the corners of his mouth. “I don’t normally have to.”

  She chuckled. “Such modesty.” And then her face fell. “No love, no promises? Your life’s almost sadder than mine,” and she looked at him, making Pete feel for the first time in many years that he might actually be missing out on something. And in that moment he was afraid that he had let her get too far under his skin. He felt awkward in her spotlight and ashamed of what he had become. Not good enough for the likes of her any more, he was resigned to the women who just wanted fun. There was no tenderness in that, nothing that would unsettle him and that was where he had been comfortable, as long as he didn’t think too much.

  “So, how are we going to get you back on the horse?” she asked him.

  “Excuse me?” For a moment he thought she had been able to read his mind, but her expression was one of innocence.

  “You have an exam to sit and you need to get cracking. We’ve got almost a month to get you up to the mark, so we’d better get going.”

  Pete shook his head. “Oh, no. There’s no ‘we’ about that. Anyway, four weeks is not nearly enough time. I should have started ages ago.”

  “Then we need to get a move on. I’ll be round every couple of days to test you on what you’ve learned. You write out a schedule and stay off the booze. Stop swanning around with all those hot women and get your head down. I believe in you, Peter Florin. You wouldn’t have got this far unless you could make it.”

  “I’d be better off resitting another time,” he told her.

  “Pull your finger out and just try. That’s all I ask. For me?”

  Pete sighed. What was it about this woman that refused to let him go? “All right, then. I’ll try. But don’t hold your breath. And if I’m not allowed any hot women or drink, I’m going to have to find another vice to sink my teeth into.” And he watched as her face took on a curious expression.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday, Jenny had the day off and she was a woman on a mission. She spent the morning searching the net for tempting recipes and then bought what she needed and began to bake. She was going to have to put in a few miles to make up for all the tasting she had wangled in the making of the treats, so while they were all cooling on the rack, she went on her much-anticipated run.